


dare and dare again

by lordofthedreadfort



Category: A Place of Greater Safety - Hilary Mantel
Genre: but so much tension tho, the true pinnacle of Very Little Happening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 14:59:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8213341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordofthedreadfort/pseuds/lordofthedreadfort
Summary: In the wake of Louis XVI's execution, Danton pays a late night visit to Camille.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ABitNotGood (EggsyUnwin)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EggsyUnwin/gifts).



> this is ridiculous and i don't think anything happens in it  
> but HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

"Camille?"

Danton is standing in the doorway, looking strangely hesitant for someone so bold. Perhaps it is the weight of the decision carried out today that twists his expression so - Louis Capet has been dead less than twenty four hours, the public dipping their handkerchiefs in his blood splatter after the blade had rung out. Camille thinks otherwise. Decisions like that come more easily to Danton than anything else: it is the smaller choices, the intricacies of turning up at a man's house after all the lights have gone out that causes him hesitancy.

"Hello," Camille offers in return, coupled with a smile that appears nervous although it isn't. He likes the sight of Danton in his threshold - the silhouette against the dim moonlight, the slope of his shoulders, the flash of his gaze. "Are you not celebrating with Gabrielle?"

Danton huffs an unceremonious laugh as he strides through the doorway, slinging his coat on a hook. "Don't be an ass," he reprimands, meeting Camille's sly glance head on. 

It is always like this: nighttime, the candles burning low, casting shadows that judder and jolt across the room like a boat on rolling seas. Everything is quiet and hushed, poised on a moment. Suspended in a place where nothing ever matters, because nothing is real.

Sometimes Lucile inhabits the spaces in between the two of them, a phantom pain that makes its presence known. For she wants Danton, and Danton wants her, and they both want Camille. But nothing is ever said - it is merely a confused tangle of uncertain glances and cautious touches in the darkness, and Camille is never certain if it means less because they never speak of it, or if it means more because he can still feel the ghostly imprint of Danton's fingers on his skin long after they have fallen apart again.

They sit in the dining room, passing a bottle of something sharp and acrid back and forth as the shadows grow longer around them. Camille sweeps his gaze across Danton's form at odd intervals, noting the rumpled lines in his shirt and the deep furrow of his brows as if he is observing a painting where the brush strokes have run too thickly. He can almost see the imprint of the brush in the way Danton sits; the manner in which the painter might have pressed too harshly, or left the brush lingering long enough to splotch drops of paint.

"What are we going to do now?" Camille asks finally, splintering the solemn hush that has descended over the two of them. Danton offers him a startled, abrupt glance, gripping the bottle, until Camilly slowly amends, "Not now. But - over the coming days. What happens now?"

Danton relaxes into his familiar slouch, draining the dregs of the bottle in one professional motion.

"God knows," he says airily, although both he and Camille know he would be lying if he said he didn't have a plan. 

"Some people say this is merely an ornamental move," Camille suggests, unconsciously leaning towards Danton, his fingers drumming absently on the arm of his chair. He says some people as if neither of them are aware of particular names, particular faces, particular grievances. It is simpler this way.

"Well, they're idiots," Danton responds contemptuously, "In some ways it is - it's not as if our old friend Louis had any power. But it's going to have an impact. Both you and I know it won't all be good. But it had to be done."

Necessity. It is in the hard lines of Danton's face; in the conviction of his words; the deep tenor of his voice, which shudders down the base of Camille's spine as he stands, almost involuntarily. He studies Danton for a second in this careful, frozen way, feeling words bloom and die in the back of his throat.

"I am always with you," he says finally, the conviction in his voice more uneven than Danton's smooth assurance, but just as insistent. 

"I know," Danton offers in return, rising to stand. For a moment he looks impossibly unhappy in a way Camille had not intended, but the expression lasts barely a second before Danton arranges his face into its usual brusque solemnity, the candlelight smoothing out his puckered complexion into something almost handsome looking. He reaches out a hand to run his thumb along Camille's cheek, a clumsy movement made gentle by the heat in Danton's eyes. 

Camille feels his stomach twist in anticipation as he fixes Danton's collar, before dragging his palms flat down Danton's front, smoothing out his shirt. He can feel the heat of Danton's skin through the thin material and leans into it subconsciously, his mouth oddly dry as he slides his fingers underneath the shirt to trace patterns over Danton's stomach.

"Come," Camille says, smiling suddenly, earnestly, nervously. "Let's extinguish the lights."

 

They are both in the parlour to greet Lucile as she stumbles red-eyed and softened by sleep down for breakfast. She looks from one to the other, her eyes sharp, her expression schooled into one of moderate disinterest.

"I hope you're not making a habit of this," she tells Danton, pressing her fingers against the pulse point in his wrist. Danton clears his throat, dips his head slightly to catch the waft of her perfume. Camille watches the both of them from the table.

"I'm a busy man," Danton says finally. "I've just killed a king."

"So I've heard," Lucile returns, her eyes glowing with something unfathomable as she turns to look at Camille. 

"I'm sure Citizen Danton can break away from this murderous escapades now and then to pay us a visit." Camille tastes his coffee, realises it has gone half-cold, pulls a wounded expression. "Although I would substitute 'killed' for something more publicly palatable. Deposed with impressive finality?"

"We already deposed him," Danton shoots back, moving away from Lucile.

"Then he wasn't really a king, was he?" Camille offers in return, a sharp line of a smile twisting his expression.

"Jesus Christ, it's too early - I don't come here to talk to Robespierre." Danton's tone is amicable as he steals Camille's coffee and takes an unhindered swig, before twisting away once more towards the doorway. 

"Sends my regards to Mme Danton," Camille calls distractedly as Danton slings his coat on. Danton scoffs in exasperated humour once more before turning up the collar of his coat and leaving.

He is back three nights later, looking just as earnest and hesitant, his silhouette stark against the black of the January night. The regularity of his visits only seems to denote his preoccupied awareness that things will never be this simple again: that this is as good as things have ever been, as good as they ever will be.


End file.
